


Birds and Bees

by Emeka



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: Grooming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: the arrival of kid marth presents an opportunity
Relationships: Marth/Misheil | Michalis
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Birds and Bees

There are questions Michalis has asked himself: will they retain their memories of this place when they have returned to their own worlds? Can lessons or memories here be carried, even just subconsciously, on? ...is there any way this can be used to his advantage?

He regards the others around him. No one seems to know the answer either, but they largely don’t care. They are willing to let what will be, be. All the better for him, he supposes.

And more than anyone, more than even his own sisters, he regards the different Marths that arrive. The legendary hero, the groom, the child. For the adults he suspects their lives have gone the same way, with the retaking of Altea and defeating Gharnef---the parts that concern Michalis the most. Because their happening means his defeat.

The boy still has all that ahead of him... and Michalis considers carefully day by day, what he might do. If any reality of himself can succeed, he does not mind giving himself what others might see as a reprehensible advantage. The abuse of a child does not in itself appeal to him; he has no similar thoughts with the young Caeda, or Merric, doubly not for Minerva. Because without Marth, they will fall. All they need is for one stone to be removed.

So he waits. Watches. And makes himself familiar. Marth had hated the armies that betrayed his father and conquered his homeland, _merely_ hated. There are other ways to play on emotion. Manipulation crawls under his skin; it is far more in his nature to have the boy’s head off and be done with it. But it is difficult enough to try to do what he has planned without causing a murder mystery. If he is careful, the result of this particular violence will be silence.

He guards the boy Marth in battle, and lends him his hand when he is hurt. He sups silently at his table and allows Minerva her dreamy-eyed reassurings to the other children about how _kind_ and _caring_ her older brother truly is. Probably they know already of the things he will do in the boy Marth’s future, but they are soft, all these Heroes. They want to believe in change and the inherent goodness of others. They are timid, but make no protests to his presence. They smile, even, as if he is a frightened pup in need of encouragement.

Soon there comes a night when he knows he has bided his time long enough. The older Marths treat him with the commonplace gentleness they treat next to everyone with. The child now seeks him out after battle for advice or wound care, and follows him around the grounds as he runs his mouth about whatever has caught his interest lately. This very day, he told Michalis, ‘if this is what you’re really like, then I know we can work things out in my time. I know it.’

The Summoner keeps a tight enough ship anyone who prefers to keep their own room, may. Spouses keep together, as do many same-sex siblings. Some close friends, such as the child Marth, with his child best friend, who is conveniently in the infirmary with a cold he apparently suffers frequently from.

He knocks at his door, even though it is late, and he can’t be sure the boy will wake to answer him, even though he knows the door is unlocked. He knocks, because it is the last consideration he can show him.

The boy does answer, though sleepily rubbing at his face. His eyes are drowsy but there is a burgeoning alertness Michalis would approve of generally in them. “Is something wrong?”

“I am somewhat ill,” Michalis answers straightforwardly. Best not muddle the whole thing with bad acting. And he is known as stoic. That he still seems so may not be surprising. “I would rather not inconvenience the staff at this late hour. They have enough of us during the day... but I believe you have some experience with taking care of your friend? Perhaps you could recommend some simple remedies for me.”

The child’s eyes brighten and widen, until Michalis can practically read in them in print what he is thinking. Michalis is really a secretly nice person. He’s depending on me, even though he’s my future enemy. Perhaps this is proof I can get through to the Michalis I will one day know. “Of course. Come in.”

Marth takes one of his hands and leads him in. The room looks much like Michalis’ own, beds and a trunk full of clothing, more practicality than sentimentality. A small collection of books is the only thing that stands out. He is inclined to think fondly of Maria, but she fills her room with Minerva like a child, with knick-knacks and toys. She could learn something here. Another welling of grudging respect swells inside him. Of course Marth is a more than competent soldier to be able to defeat him, but it’s gratifying to see the same evidence of such in his childhood.

They sit on one of the beds, his hand still in both of Marth’s. “Where does it hurt? Do you feel like you want to barf? I know how to make a ginger tea...”

“Here. It hurts here.”

He leads his hand to between his legs. It’s soft still, but he imagines he will be able to get it working as they go.

“Your---pe---nis?” Marth says in a stilted, awkward tone. Either he’s just put-off, or he’s put-off and trying not to seem immature by giggling over the word ‘penis’. “I don’t... I mean, Merric never got sick... there.”

“Truthfully, I know what’s wrong.” He lowers his voice a little, to convey the idea he might be a little embarrassed. “But speaking of it in the open... it’s rather private. But I do need your help.”

“Um... umm... I’ll do whatever I can.”

“You know than an infection must be drained of pus, correct?” He undoes the fly on the loose trousers he wears as nightwear, and pulls his penis out. Marth gasps softly. “But first, the pus must be brought to the surface. It’s too painful for me to do it myself.”

“It hurts?” He leans closer, chewing his lower lip in his teeth. “How do you... bring it up?”

“Massage, initially,” he answers, guiding Marth’s hands again to place them on his flesh. “Just rub it up and down. You’ll know when it’s time for the next step.”

Even with his sex soft, Marth’s hands are so small they can’t meet fingertips around it. He moves them simply like that, up and down, face red but determined. Michalis tries to think of anything to speed the process. Lust simply isn’t an emotion that comes to him. Trying to force his mind to come up with something sexual that interests instead of disinterests is so distracting it’s easier to just relax and allow his body to do what it wants. It knows it’s being fondled, at least. Soon it starts to lengthen out on each stroke until it is standing out hard and wet at the head---for all a child would know, red and throbbing with infection. 

“Is it ready to come out now?”

“That’s right. But it’s going to need a very tight squeeze to get it all out.”

“With my hands?”

“No. Tighter than what your grip is capable of.” He holds Marth’s shoulder and slowly leads him over onto his back so he doesn’t startle. So far, so good. His eyes are even bigger than before, fully awake now, but he’s not exactly resisting yet. “It might be a little painful for you, so endure.”

“Painful? What will be?” 

Michalis brings out the bottle of massage oil in his pocket. Forcing it in would be satisfying in a sense. He has thought bitterly sometimes of humiliating Marth in that way, not because he has any desire for him, and not because he values him particularly as a war trophy. It would simply be the most abject way to harm him he can think of, a way to touch and dirty him beneath his shining exterior. But in this situation, any more pain than is already likely to occur will be unwise. “Grit your teeth. I’m going to put it inside you.”

Marth’s hands fist in his shirt as he fists his prick with a palmful of oil. He can feel his muscles tensing, but he’s not sure yet what he intends, whether he is preparing to escape or if this is the ‘teeth-gritting’. “Don’t be so tense. Breathe deep.”

He obeys him, so frantically it probably defeats the purpose. In, out, in out, but at least he’s keeping still. Michalis reaches up under his nightshirt and finds the band of his underwear to pull down. “ _Slowly_. Deep and slow.” And he is quick to obey that too. His thighs are trembling against his thighs. A young prince should have some idea by now of procreation, since it is vital for his country’s future. He might have some idea now of what is going to happen, even if the body parts aren’t quite right. Or perhaps he is still innocent of such matters, and reacting only to the idea of being hurt.

Michalis pushes into him in one clean thrust. The boy under him whimpers and pushes back, feet digging into his thighs, but it’ll be easier to get the burn and pain over with. His body is so tight it hurts even for him, like it’s cutting off the circulation to his shaft. He’s actually not sure if he can come like this... he uses a hand to help himself out, to add some conventional pleasure to this overly tight boy’s ass squeezing down on him, by massaging his testicles and closer to the base of his penis, where he stops being able to push in.

“You’re doing well. Almost done.”

He feels himself swell just before he ‘pops’ in this uncomfortably cramped space. The thin release of physical tension is indeed more like putting out an infection, like popping a boil, than a sexual climax. He feels all the mess of his semen backflow and drip down his thighs.

Marth sniffles and wipes at his eyes. As Michalis withdraws himself and leans back onto his heels, he sees a few streaks of blood in the white ‘pus’ dripping from his hole. “Are you... are you all better now?”

“Yes. Thank you, Marth of Altea.” 

He smiles, with his wobbly mouth, and lashes heavy with tears. “I’m glad!”

Marth is quieter the next day, the next week, the next month. He still smiles when he talks, and he does not refuse Michalis to his bed for ‘treatment’ when he comes about once a week, but he can tell. Even if he can rationalize what they do as helping, he must have an idea that it is a taboo thing even if he hasn’t been educated on sexuality. His gut must tell him something is off, even if he can’t understand what---he must chafe under the secrecy, and dislike the pain, both the presence and lack of it.

A few months in he shivers suddenly, and yelps, but not as though he is being hurt. Michalis does not touch him any more inappropriately than he already is, but he’s glad to feel his clenching on him, and the whimpering afterward. Someday, this Marth too will be an adult, and will understand what was done to him, and how he eventually reacted. 

They do not talk directly about it. Some days Marth makes himself scarce. Other days he comes up to him and shyly suggests whether or not he needs to be cured again. And so Michalis trusts he has had the effect on him he wants to. As an adult Marth will likely hate him, but he will fear him, and love him as well. And a seed of doubt has been placed in him that will color how he sees himself and others. This Marth as an adult might mistrust his own abilities and feelings, might mistrust his own perceptions, might mistrust the ones he calls ‘friend’ in other worlds. Even if he does not remember specifically, the body will remember what he has experienced for him.

It’s not a sure thing, of course. But it is _a_ thing. This other Michalis should be grateful to him for dirtying his own integrity like this. 

Wouldn’t it be funny, though, if this child Marth existed in the same world he did?


End file.
